K BALLAD OF 
 
 rm BOSTON 
 
 Ten r\rjk 
 
 ^TORY OP 
 •VisKeRMILL 
 
Dorothy 
 
 Together with 
 
 A Ballad of the Boston Tea Party 
 
 & 
 
 Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle 
 
 By Oliver Wendell Holmes 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 Howard Pyle 
 
 Boston and New York 
 
 Houghton, Mifflin and Company 
 
 (Cbe ftiUemDe prestf, <Canibrit>B'* 
 
 MDCCCXCIII 
 
 
 31 
 
 J 
 
 
°\ 
 
 -, ^ 
 
 Copyright, 1874 ar >d 1875, 
 By OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 Copyright, 1892, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S.A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 OROTHY QUINCY, the subject of the 
 first poem in this volume, was aunt 
 of the first JosiaJi Quincy, Junior, 
 " that fervid orator who expended 
 his life for the cause of his country, dying on ship- 
 board in sight of home, as he returned from Eng- 
 land after hostilities had begun only seven days."'' 
 She was also the aunt of a second Dorothy Quincy, 
 who became the wife of John Hancock, President 
 of the first Continental Congress. 
 
 The painting hung in the house of my grand- 
 father, Oliver Wendell which was oca/pied by 
 British officers before the evacuation of Boston. 
 One of these gentlemen amused himself by stabbing 
 poor Dorothy (the pictured one) as near the right 
 eye as his swordsmanship would serve him to do 
 it. The canvas was so decayed that it became neces- 
 sary to remount the painting, in the process of 
 
 5 
 
doing which the hole made by the rapier was lost 
 sight of. I took some photographs of the picture 
 before it was transferred to the new canvas. 
 
 The tax on tea, which was considered so odious 
 and led to the act on which A Ballad of the Boston 
 Tea Party is founded, was but a small 7iiatter, 
 on ly two pence in the pound. But it involved a 
 Principle of taxation, to which the Colonies would 
 not submit. Their objection was not to the amount, 
 but the claim. The East India Company, however, 
 sent out a number of tea-ships to different Amer- 
 ican ports, three of them to Boston. 
 
 The inhabitants tried to send them back, but in 
 vain. The captains of the ships had consented, if 
 permitted, to return with their cargoes to England, 
 but the consignees refused to discharge them from 
 their obligations, the custom house to give them a 
 clearance for their return, and the governor to 
 grant tliem a passport for going by the fort. It 
 was easily seen that the tea would be gradually 
 landed from the ships lying so near the town, and 
 that if lauded it would be disposed of and the 
 purpose of establisliing the monopoly and raising 
 a revenue effected. To prevent the dreaded conse- 
 quence, a number of ar fried men, disguised like 
 Indians, boarded the ships and threw their whole 
 cargoes of tea into the dock. About seventeen per- 
 sons boarded the ships in Boston harbor, and 
 emptied three hundred and forty-two chests of tea. 1 
 Among these " Indians " was Major Thomas Mel- 
 
 1 Holmes's Annals of America, vol. ii. pp. 181-2. 
 
 6 
 
ville, the same who suggested to me the poem, 
 
 " The Last Leaf." 
 
 The stay of Bunker 1 nil battle is told as liter- 
 ally in accordance with the best authorities as it 
 would have been if it had been written in prose 
 instead of in verse. I have often been asked what 
 steeple it was from which the little group I speak 
 of looked upon the conflict. To this I answer that 
 I am not prepared to speak authoritatively, but 
 that the reader may take his choice among all the 
 steeples standing at that time in the northern part 
 of the city. Christ Church in Salem Street is the 
 one I always think of but I do not insist upon its 
 claim. As to the personages who made up the 
 small company that followed the old corporal, it 
 would be hard to identify them, but by ascertaining 
 where the portrait by Copley is now to be found, 
 some light may be thrown on their personality. 
 
 Daniel Malcolm's gravestone, splintered by Brit- 
 ish bullets, may be seen in the Copfs Hill burial- 
 ground. 
 
 O. TV. H, 
 
LIST or 
 
 ILLVSTRATIONS 
 
 DOROTHY O. page 
 
 Portrait of Dorothy Q., from a painting in the pos- 
 session of Dr. Holmes . . Frontispiece. 
 
 Half Title 13 
 
 Painting the Picture 14 
 
 " Girlish bust, but womanly air " . . . . 15 
 
 " Hint and promise of stately mien " . . . 17 
 
 " The youthful sire " 18 
 
 " Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes " . . . 21 
 
 " Lady and lover " 22 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY 
 
 " The Boston teapot bubbled " .... 26 
 
 Half Title 27 
 
 A cup of Tea 28 
 
 " Many a six-foot grenadier 
 
 The flattened grass had measured" • • • 3 1 
 
 " Her tearful memories treasured " ... 32 
 
 " Behold the guests advancing" . . . -35 
 
 " The lively barber " 36 
 
 " The truant tapster " 39 
 
 " The cooper's boys " 4° 
 
 9 
 
" The lusty young Fort-Hillers ; ' .... 
 " The Tories seize the omen " .... 
 
 " The Mohawk band is swarming" . 
 " So gracious, sweet, and purring " ... 
 
 " The quiet dame " 
 
 An Old North-Ender 
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER-HILL 
 BATTLE 
 Watching the Battle from the Steeple 
 
 Half Title 
 
 The Grandmother .... 
 
 " Lord Percy's hunted soldiers " 
 
 " Says grandma ' What 's the matter ? ' " 
 
 " The Mohawks killed her father " . 
 
 " ' Don't you fret and worry any ' " 
 
 " Down my hair went as I hurried " 
 
 " The Corporal marched before " 
 
 " We climbed the creaking stair " . 
 
 " The earthwork hid them from us " , 
 
 " The cannons' deafening thrill " 
 
 " Like a gentleman of leisure " . ' , 
 
 " The belted grenadiers " 
 
 " The barges gliding onward " . 
 
 " Again they formed in order " 
 
 " They wait and answer not "• 
 
 " The Corporal, our old cripple " 
 
 Dan'l Malcolm's Grave 
 
 " In the hush of expectation " 
 
 " Like a thunder-cloud it breaks " 
 
 " A headlong crowd is flying " 
 
 " ' Are they beaten ? '" 
 
 10 
 
 43 
 
 44 
 47 
 48 
 
 5i 
 
 5 2 
 
 56 
 
 57 
 
 58 
 61 
 62 
 
 65 
 66 
 69 
 70 
 73 
 74 
 77 
 78 
 81 
 82 
 
 85 
 86 
 
 89 
 90 
 
 93 
 94 
 97 
 98 
 
" They are baffled, not defeated " . . . . 101 
 
 " The roofs of Charlestown blazing " . . . 102 
 
 " We can see each massive column" . . . 105 
 
 " The ominous calm is broken " ... . 106 
 
 " The frightened braves of Howe "... 109 
 
 u We looked, poor timid creatures " . . . .110 
 
 " ' Have a drop of old Jamaiky '" . . . . 113 
 
 " They were creeping round to four " . . .114 
 
 " In close array they come " 117 
 
 " They surged above the breast-work" . . .118 
 
 " They say I fainted " 121 
 
 "' Here 's a soldier bleeding ' " 122 
 
 " Brought him from the battle " . . . . 125 
 
 " I saw his eyes were blue " . . . . .126 
 
 " We came to know each other " . . . . 129 
 
 " His picture Copley painted " . . 130 
 

 
 »tf 
 
 J) orothy Q. 
 
 A 
 
 SH Family Portrait 
 
c\ / 
 
 \ 
 
 :> 
 
sJtof 
 
 Dorothy O. 
 
 Grandmother's mother : her age, I 
 guess, 
 
 Thirteen summers, or something less ; 
 
 Girlish bust, but womanly air; 
 
 Smooth, square forehead, with up- 
 rolled hair, 
 
 Lips that lover has never kissed ; 
 
 Taper fingers and slender wrist ; 
 
 Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade ; 
 
 So they painted the little maid. 
 
On her hand a parrot green 
 Sits unmoving and broods serene. 
 Hold up the canvas full in view, — 
 Look ! there 's a rent the light shines 
 
 through, 
 Dark with a century's fringe of 
 
 dust, — 
 That was a Red-Coat's rapier thrust ! 
 Such is the tale the lady old, 
 Dorothy's daughter's daughter, told. 
 
 Who the painter was none may tell, — 
 One whose best was not over well ; 
 Hard and dry, it must be confessed, 
 Flat as a rose that has long been 
 
 pressed ; 
 Yet in her cheek the hues are bright, 
 Dainty colors of red and white, 
 And in her slender shape are seen 
 Hint and promise of stately mien. 
 16 
 
 ^te&dfi^i 
 
f 
 
 i 7 "••-, i / 
 
 aT 
 
 ? 
 
mm 
 
 t 
 ^ 
 
Look not on her with eyes of scorn, — 
 
 Dorothy O. was a lady born ! 
 
 Ay! since the galloping Normans 
 
 came, 
 England's annals have known her 
 
 name, 
 And still to the three-hilled rebel 
 
 town 
 Dear is that ancient name's renown, 
 For many a civic wreath they won, 
 The youthful sire and the gray-haired 
 
 son. 
 
 O Damsel Dorothy! Dorothy O. ! 
 Strange is the gift that I owe to you; 
 Such a gift as never a king 
 
 to daughter or son 
 bring, — 
 
 might 
 
 All my tenure of heart and hand, 
 All my title to house and land ; 
 J 9 
 
 0%is&&** e *2&y&v% 
 
Mother and sister and child and wife 
 And joy and sorrow and death and 
 life! 
 
 What if a hundred years ago 
 
 Those close-shut lips had answered 
 
 No, 
 When forth the tremulous question 
 
 came 
 That cost the maiden her Norman 
 
 name, 
 And under the folds that look so still 
 The bodice swelled with the bosom's 
 
 thrill ? 
 Should I be I, or would it be 
 One tenth another, to nine tenths 
 
 me? 
 
 Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes : 
 Not the light gossamer stirs with 
 less; 
 
 20 
 
 k/ 3a ^£^^>^^ 5€ %^| 
 

 
 MM?? 
 
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 *0 
 
 
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But never a cable that holds so fast 
 Through all the battles of wave and 
 
 blast, 
 And never an echo of speech or song 
 That lives in the babbling air so Ions" ! 
 There were tones in the voice that 
 
 whispered then 
 You may hear to-day in a hundred 
 
 men. 
 
 lady and lover, how faint and far 
 Your images hover, — and here we 
 
 are, 
 Solid and stirring in flesh and bone, — 
 Edward's and Dorothy's — all their 
 
 own, — 
 A goodly record for Time to show 
 Of a syllable spoken so long ago ! — 
 Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive 
 For the tender whisper that bade me 
 
 live? 
 
 2 3 
 
It shall be a blessing, my little maid ! 
 I will heal the stab of the Red- Coat's 
 
 blade, 
 And freshen the gold of the tarnished 
 
 frame, 
 And gild with a rhyme your household 
 
 name ; 
 So you shall smile on us brave and 
 
 bright 
 As first you greeted the morning's 
 
 light, 
 And live untroubled by woes and 
 
 fears 
 Through a second youth of a hundred 
 
 years. 
 
 24 
 
f : TEA-PARTY M 
 
 A 
 
 BALLAD -,«, 
 
 WW 
 
 of the 
 
 BOSTON 
 
Since Hebe served with nectar 
 The bright Olympians and their Lord, 
 
 Her over-kind protector, — 
 Since Father Noah squeezed the 
 grape 
 And took to such behaving 
 As would have shamed our grandsire 
 ape 
 Before the days of shaving, — 
 No ! ne'er was mingled such a draught 
 
 In palace, hall, or arbor, 
 As freemen brewed and tyrants 
 quaffed 
 That night in Boston Harbor! 
 29 
 
 ,^yv=^ 
 
^ 
 
 It kept King George so long awake, 
 
 His brain at last got addled, 
 It made the nerves of Britain shake, 
 With sevenscore millions saddled ; 
 Before that bitter cup was drained, 
 
 Amid the roar of cannon, 
 The Western war-cloud's crimson 
 stained 
 The Thames, the Clyde, the Shan- 
 non ; 
 
 3° 
 
 Q^^j^^^W 
 
 P^-us9 
 

 it, 
 
 4=- 
 
 
 
Full many a six-foot grenadier 
 
 The flattened grass had measured, 
 And many a mother many a year 
 
 Her tearful memories treasured** 
 Fast spread the tempest's darkening 
 pall, 
 
 The mighty realms were troubled, 
 The storm broke loose, but first of all 
 
 The Boston teapot bubbled ! 
 
An evening party, — only that, 
 
 No formal invitation, 
 No gold-laced coat, no stiff cravat, 
 
 ^o feast in contemplation, 
 No silk-robed dames, no fiddling band, 
 
 No flowers, no songs, no dancing, — 
 A tribe of red men, axe in hand, — 
 
 Behold the guests advancing ! 
 34 
 
^ 
 
How fast the stragglers join the 
 throng, 
 From stall and workshop gathered ! 
 The lively barber skips along, 
 And leaves a chin half-lathered; 
 37 
 
 e^-^ ( 
 
The smith has flung his hammer 
 down, — 
 The horseshoe still is glowing ; 
 The truant tapster at the Crown 
 Has left a beer-cask flowing; 
 38 
 
The cooper's boys have dropped the 
 adze, 
 And trot behind their master; 
 Up run the tarry ship-yard lads, — 
 The crowd is hurrying faster, — 
 4* 
 
Out from the Millpond's purlieus 
 gush 
 The streams of white-faced millers, 
 And down their slippery alleys rush 
 The lusty young Fort-Hillers ; 
 42 
 
FKe Fort ^.Millers. 
 
The Tories. 
 
 ■x^ 
 
The ropewalk lends its 'prentice 
 crew, — 
 The tories seize the omen : 
 " Ay, boys, you '11 soon have work to 
 do 
 For England's rebel foemen, 
 ' King Hancock,' Adams, and their 
 
 gang. 
 That fire the mob with treason, — 
 When these we shoot and those we 
 hang, 
 The town will come to reason." 
 45 
 
On — on to where the tea-ships ride ! 
 
 And now their ranks are forming, — 
 A rush, and up the Dartmouth's side 
 
 The Mohawk band is swarming ! 
 See the fierce natives ! What a glimpse 
 
 Of paint and fur and feather, 
 As all at once the full-grown imps 
 
 Light on the deck together ! 
 A scarf the pigtail's secret keeps, 
 
 A blanket hides the breeches, — 
 And out the cursed cargo leaps, 
 
 And overboard it pitches ! 
 4 6 
 
r* 
 
O woman, at the evening board 
 
 So gracious, sweet, and purring, 
 So happy while the tea is poured, 
 
 So blest while spoons are stirring, 
 What martyr can compare with thee, 
 
 The mother, wife, or daughter, 
 That night, instead of best Bohea, 
 
 Condemned to milk and water ! 
 49 
 
Ah, little dreams the quiet dame 
 
 Who plies with rock and spindle 
 The patient flax, how great a flame 
 
 Yon little spark shall kindle ! 
 The lurid morning shall reveal 
 
 A fire no king can smother, 
 Where British flint and Boston steel 
 
 Have flashed against each other ! 
 Old charters shrivel in its track, 
 
 His Worship's bench has crumbled, 
 It climbs and clasps the union-jack, 
 
 Its blazoned pomp is humbled, 
 The flags go down on land and sea 
 
 Like corn before the reapers ; 
 So burned the fire that brewed the tea 
 
 That Boston served her keepers ! 
 
 WWV«^ 
 
SL 
 

The waves that wrought a century's 
 wreck 
 
 Have rolled o'er whig and tory ; 
 The Mohawks on the Dartmouth's 
 deck 
 
 Still live in song and story ; 
 The waters in the rebel bay 
 
 Have kept the tea-leaf savor ; 
 Our old North-Enders in their spray 
 
 Still taste a Hyson flavor ; 
 And Freedom's teacup still o'erfiows 
 
 With ever fresh libations, 
 To cheat of slumber all her foes 
 
 And cheer the wakening nations ! 
 53 
 
Here endeth 
 A Ballad 
 of the 
 
o 
 
§ 
 
 grandmother's story 
 
 of 
 
 BUNKER HILL 
 
 BATTLE 
 
 1 
 
 } 
 
 'T is like stirring living embers when, 
 
 at eighty, one remembers 
 All the achings and the quakings of 
 
 "the times that tried men's 
 
 souls ; " 
 When I talk of Whig and Tory, 
 
 when I tell the Rebel story. 
 To you the words are ashes, but to 
 
 me they 're burning coals. 
 59 
 
I had heard the muskets' rattle of the 
 
 April running battle ; 
 Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can 
 
 see their red coats still ; 
 But a deadly chill comes o'er me, as 
 
 the day looms up before me, 
 When a thousand men lay bleeding 
 
 on the slopes of Bunker's Hill. 
 60 
 
*£ 
 
 
 '\. 
 
'T was a peaceful summer's morning, 
 when the first thing gave us warn- 
 ing 
 
 Was the booming of the cannon from 
 the river and the shore : 
 
 " Child," says grandma, " what 's the 
 matter, what is all this noise and 
 clatter ? 
 
 Have those scalping Indian devils 
 come to murder us once more ? " 
 63 
 
Poor old soul ! my sides were shaking 
 
 in the midst of all my quaking, 
 To hear her talk of Indians when the 
 
 guns began to roar : 
 She had seen the burning village, and 
 
 the slaughter and the pillage, 
 When the Mohawks killed her father 
 
 with their bullets through his 
 
 door. 
 
 64 
 


Then I said, " Now, dear old granny, 
 
 don't you fret and worry any, 
 For I '11 soon come back and tell you 
 
 whether this is work or play ; 
 There can't be mischief in it, so I 
 
 won't be gone a minute " — 
 For a minute then I started. I was 
 
 gone the livelong day. 
 67 
 
No time for bodice-lacing or for look- 
 ing-glass grimacing; 
 
 Down my hair went as I hurried, 
 tumbling half-way to my heels ; 
 
 God forbid your ever knowing, when 
 there 's blood around her flowing, 
 
 How the lonely, helpless daughter of 
 
 a quiet household feels ! 
 68 
 

In the street I heard a thumping; and 
 
 I knew it was the stumping 
 Of the Corporal, our old neighbor, on 
 
 that wooden leg he wore, 
 With a knot of women round him, — 
 
 it was lucky I had found him, 
 So I followed with the others, and the 
 
 Corporal marched before. 
 71 
 
They were making for the steeple, — 
 
 the old soldier and his people; 
 The pigeons circled round us as we 
 
 climbed the creaking stair, 
 Just across the narrow river — oh, 
 
 so close it made me shiver ! — 
 Stood a fortress on the hill-top that 
 
 but yesterday was bare. 
 72 
 
 ^^w-^ 
 

Not slow our eyes to find it ; well we 
 
 knew who stood behind it, 
 Though the earthwork hid them from 
 
 us, and the stubborn walls were 
 
 dumb : 
 Here were sister, wife, and mother, 
 
 looking wild upon each other, 
 And their lips were white with terror 
 
 as they said, The hour has 
 
 come ! 
 
 75 
 
The morning slowly wasted, not a 
 
 morsel had we tasted, 
 And our heads were almost splitting 
 
 with the cannons' deafening thrill, 
 When a figure tall and stately round 
 
 the rampart strode sedately ; 
 It was Prescott, one since told me; 
 
 he commanded on the hill. 
 76 
 
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Every woman's heart grew bigger 
 when we saw his manly figure, 
 
 With the banyan buckled round it, 
 standing up so straight and tall; 
 
 Like a gentleman of leisure who is 
 strolling out for pleasure, 
 
 Through the storm of shells and can- 
 non-shot he walked around the 
 wall. 
 
 79 
 
At eleven the streets were swarming, 
 for the red-coats' ranks were 
 forming ; 
 
 At noon in marching order they were 
 moving to the piers ; 
 
 How the bayonets gleamed and glis- 
 tened, as we looked far down, and 
 listened 
 
 To the trampling and the drum-beat 
 of the belted grenadiers ! 
 80 
 

 
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At length the men have started, with 
 
 a cheer (it seemed faint-hearted), 
 In their scarlet regimentals, with 
 
 their knapsacks on their backs, 
 And the reddening, rippling water, as 
 
 after a sea-fight's slaughter, 
 Round the barges gliding onward 
 
 blushed like blood along their 
 
 tracks. 
 
 83 
 
So they crossed to the other border, 
 
 and again they formed in order ; 
 And the boats came back for soldiers, 
 
 came for soldiers, soldiers still : 
 The time seemed everlasting to us 
 
 women faint and fasting, — 
 At last they 're moving, marching, 
 
 marching proudly up the hill. 
 84 
 
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We can see the bright steel glancing 
 
 all along the lines advancing — 
 Now the front rank fires a volley — 
 
 they have thrown away their shot ; 
 For behind their earthwork lying, all 
 
 the balls above them flying, 
 Our people need not hurry ; so they 
 
 wait and answer not. 
 *7 
 
Then the Corporal, our old cripple 
 
 (he would swear sometimes and 
 
 tipple), — 
 He had heard the bullets whistle (in 
 
 the old French war) before, — 
 Calls out in words of jeering, just as 
 
 if they all were hearing, — 
 And his wooden leg thumps fiercely 
 
 on the dusty belfry floor : — 
 88 
 
" Oh ! fire away, ye villains, and earn 
 King George's shillin's, 
 
 But ye '11 waste a ton of powder afore 
 a ' rebel ' falls ; 
 
 You may bang the dirt and welcome, 
 they 're as safe as Dan'l Mal- 
 colm 
 
 Ten foot beneath the gravestone that 
 you 've splintered with your 
 balls ! " 
 
 91 
 
In the hush of expectation, in the 
 
 awe and trepidation 
 Of the dread approaching moment, 
 
 we are well-nigh breathless all ; 
 Though the rotten bars are failing on 
 
 the rickety belfry railing, 
 
 We are crowding up against them 
 
 like the waves against a wall. 
 92 
 


 
 
Just a glimpse (the air is clearer), 
 they are nearer, — nearer, — 
 nearer, 
 
 When a flash — a curling smoke- 
 wreath — then a crash — the 
 steeple shakes — 
 
 The deadly truce is ended ; the tem- 
 pest's shroud is rended ; 
 
 Like a morning mist it gathered, 
 like a thunder-cloud it breaks ! 
 95 
 
Oh the sight our eyes discover as the 
 
 blue-black smoke blows over ! 
 The red-coats stretched in windrows 
 
 as a mower rakes his hay ; 
 Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a 
 
 headlong crowd is flying 
 Like a billow that has broken and is 
 
 shivered into spray. 
 96 
 
a \^*r\^ *m 
 
 
 &S\ 
 
 
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Then we cried, " The troops are 
 
 routed ! they are beat — it can't 
 
 be doubted ! 
 God be thanked, the fight is over ! " 
 
 — Ah ! the grim old soldier's 
 
 smile ! 
 " Tell us, tell us why you look so ? " 
 
 (we could hardly speak, we shook 
 
 so),— 
 " Are they beaten ? Are they beaten ? 
 
 Are they beaten ? " — " Wait a 
 
 while." 
 
 99 
 
 ^^v^^pwx^ 
 
Oh the trembling and the terror ! for 
 too soon we saw our error : 
 
 They are baffled, not defeated; we 
 have driven them back in vain ; 
 
 And the columns that were scattered, 
 round the colors that were tat- 
 tered, 
 
 Toward the sullen, silent fortress turn 
 their belted breasts again. 
 
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All at once, as we are gazing, lo the 
 
 roofs of Charlestown blazing ! 
 They have fired the harmless village ; 
 
 in an hour it will be down ! 
 The Lord in heaven confound them, 
 
 rain his fire and brimstone round 
 
 them, — 
 The robbing, murdering red-coats, 
 
 that would burn a peaceful town ! 
 
They are marching, stern and solemn ; 
 
 we can see each massive column 
 As they near the naked earth-mound 
 
 with the slanting walls so steep. 
 Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, 
 
 and in noiseless haste departed ? 
 
 Are they panic-struck and helpless ? 
 
 Are they palsied or asleep ? 
 104 
 

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 ' 
 
 '^"//. 
 
 
 
 
Now ! the walls they 're almost under ! 
 scarce a rod the foes asunder ! 
 
 Not a firelock flashed against them ! 
 up the earthwork they will swarm ! 
 
 But the words have scarce been spo- 
 ken, when the ominous calm is 
 broken, 
 
 And a bellowing crash has emptied 
 all the vengeance of the storm ! 
 107 
 
So again, with murderous slaughter, 
 
 pelted backwards to the water, 
 Fly Pigot's running heroes and the 
 
 frightened braves of Howe; 
 And we shout, k ' At last they 're done 
 
 for, it 's their barges they have 
 
 run for : 
 They are beaten, beaten, beaten ; and 
 
 the battle 's over now ! " 
 
 1 08 
 

 ,, 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^^Sa, 
 
And we looked, poor timid creatures, 
 on the rough old soldier's fea- 
 tures, 
 
 Our lips afraid to question, but he 
 knew what we would ask : 
 
 " Not sure," he said ; " keep quiet, — 
 once more, I guess, they '11 try 
 it — 
 
 Here 's damnation to the cut-throats ! " 
 — then he handed me his flask, 
 
0S"S> 
 
 Saying, " Gal, you 're looking shaky ; 
 
 have a drop of old Jamaiky ; 
 I 'm afeard there '11 be more trouble 
 
 afore the job is done ; " 
 Sol took one scorching swallow ; 
 
 dreadful faint I felt and hollow, 
 Standing there from early morning 
 
 when the firing was begun. 
 
 112 
 

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 snULfl 
 
 
 ra^-^ : 
 
 
 / 
 
 a: 
 
All through those hours of trial I 
 
 had watched a calm clock dial, 
 As the hands kept creeping, creeping, 
 
 — they were creeping round to 
 four, 
 
 When the old man said, " They 're 
 forming with their bagonets fixed 
 for storming : 
 
 It 's the death-grip that 's a-coming, 
 
 — they will try the works once 
 more." 
 
 "5 
 
With brazen trumpets blaring, the 
 
 flames behind them glaring, 
 The deadly wall before them, in close 
 
 array they come ; 
 Still onward, upward toiling, like a 
 
 dragon's fold uncoiling, — 
 Like the rattlesnake's shrill warning 
 
 the reverberating drum ! 
 1 16 
 
Over heaps all torn and gory — shall 
 I tell the fearful story, 
 
 How they surged above the breast- 
 work, as a sea breaks over a 
 deck ; 
 
 How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our 
 worn-out men retreated, 
 
 With their powder-horns all emptied, 
 like the swimmers from a wreck ? 
 119 
 
It has all been told and painted; as 
 
 for me, they say I fainted, 
 And the wooden-legged old Corporal 
 
 stumped with me down the stair : 
 When I woke from dreams affrighted 
 
 the evening lamps were lighted, — 
 On the floor a youth was lying ; his 
 
 bleeding breast was bare. 
 
And I heard through all the flurry, 
 
 " Send for WARREN ! hurry ! 
 
 hurry ! 
 Tell him here 's a soldier bleeding, 
 
 and he '11 come and dress his 
 
 wound ! " 
 Ah, we knew not till the morrow told 
 
 its tale of death and sorrow, 
 How the starlight found him stiffened 
 
 on the dark and bloody ground. 
 123 
 
Who the youth was, what his name 
 was, where the place from which 
 he came was, 
 
 Who had brought him from the bat- 
 tle, and had left him at our door, 
 
 He could not speak to tell us ; but 
 't was one of our brave fellows, 
 
 As the homespun plainly showed us 
 
 which the dying soldier wore. 
 
 124 
 
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For they all thought he was dying, 
 as they gathered round him cry- 
 ing, — 
 
 And they said, " Oh, how they 11 miss 
 him ! " and " What will his 
 mother do ? " 
 
 Then, his eyelids just unclosing like 
 a child's that has been dozing, 
 
 He faintly murmured, "Mother!" 
 
 — and — I saw his eyes were 
 
 blue. 
 
 127 
 
" Why, grandma, how you 're wink- 
 ing ! " Ah, my child, it sets me 
 thinking 
 
 Of a story not like this one. Well, 
 he somehow lived along ; 
 
 So we came to know each other, and 
 I nursed him like a — mother, 
 
 Till at last he stood before me, tall, 
 
 and rosy-cheeked, and strong. 
 128 
 

And we sometimes walked together 
 
 in the pleasant summer weather, 
 " Please to tell us what his name 
 
 was ? " Just your own, my little 
 
 dear, — 
 There 's his picture Copley painted : 
 
 we became so well acquainted, 
 That _ in short, that 's why I 'm 
 
 grandma, and vou children all 
 
 are here ! " 
 
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